


love is a battlefield

by unimate



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Gen, IN SPACE!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:02:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22479892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unimate/pseuds/unimate
Summary: You should be grateful that blood as muddy green as your was even allowed to step foot in this office. You remember how proud your lusus had been when the assignment came down. How your friends had congratulated you while barely concealing their outraged jealousy. You didn’t let it bother you. It wasn’t as if you were ever going to see them again.(an oliveblood quadrant counselor in the space war meets the rebel prophet)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	love is a battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> written for starshinePerigee.
> 
> this doesn't really fit any sort of continuity exactly. could be pesterquest compliant if you squint.

The Reshi Nebula glimmers through the ob window in a chaotic, distant dance, like a promise just out of reach. When you were a wiggler you used to imagine what it would be like to swim out there in the pool of stars, to feel their light on your skin. Well, metaphorically, at least. Putting aside the fact that there’s nothing out there but hard, cold vacuum. You’d always been sort of a fanciful kid.

GOLDBLOOD: ...right doctor…? 

ELLIAN: what?  
ELLIAN: Oh. 

You force your eyes from the window and the distant nebula and back to your current appointment. The two trolls sitting on either end of your rumpuscushion. The goldblood is scratching nervously at one of her horns.

GOLDBLOOD: ...you agree with me...right doctor…?  
...they should waited for me…! 

Her cerulean moirail rolls their eyes. They’ve got six of them, so it’s kind of a production.

ELLIAN: Oh Uh 

Waited? What were they waiting for? You lost the thread of the conversation several anecdotes ago. Were they waiting in line? Waiting to start dinner? Now that you’re considering it, could they have been actually talking about _weight?_ Ugh. You should have grabbed another cup of coffee before the appointment. Not that it would have made their issues more interesting. And it’s not like you even need to be paying much attention to what these two have to say in order to diagnose this situation. The goldblood is desperate for the cerulean’s approval and attention, and the cerulean finds this deeply tiresome. At one point they may have found the gold’s desperation flattering; maybe they told themselves it was just the natural power balance of their castes. The lowblood looking up to them. But somewhere along the line it soured. The cerulean wondering exactly why they had to take on all of the emotional weight of the relationship, on top of all their duties on the ship. And as she feels her moirail pull away, the goldblood just clings closer. 

The healthy course of action would be to cut their losses and call it quits here. They’re young, most likely met as wigglers. Plenty of relationships don’t survive the difficult transition to the front lines. This is going to implode somewhere down the line. But not for a while. This relationship doesn’t have legs, but it’s not dead yet. 

Sometimes you actually pity the upper castes, what with all the expectations that they bring their quadrants with them on assignment. Sounds like an awful lot to deal with. When you were young, you’d have thought it was romantic. 

You scribble something down onto your notes, trying to give the impression that you’ve been doing the whole time. Hanging on their every word.

ELLIAN: I absOlUtely sympathIze wIth yOUr pOsItIOn, helmsman  
ELLIAN: and I tOtally Understand yOUr frUstratIOn, prIvate  
ELLIAN: I thInk 

Both of them lean forward, the cerulean momentarily losing their patina of bored disinterest.

ELLIAN: I thInk bOth Of yOU are Under Immense pressUre rIght nOw  
LLIAN: dO yOUr best and cOntinUe tO sUppOrt each Other 

CERULEANBLOOD: Wait.  
CERULEANBLOOD: That’s it? 

You just continue to smile pleasantly, which seems to unsettle their anger for a moment, before it blazes back to life.

CERULEANBLOOD: That’s your advice? Are you fucking--

The goldblood grabs her moirail by the arm before they can rise, yanking them sharply back down.

GOLDBLOOD: ...we’re very grateful for your advice and your wisdom, doctor…  
GOLDBLOOD: ...glory to the empire…! 

ELLIAN: glOry tO the empIre

You turn away from them as they leave your office, disappointment tingling in the base of your horns. For a moment there you actually thought someone was actually going to challenge your diagnosis. But of course they won’t. Because you’re a certified theraterror, which means no Private or Junior Helmsman has any right to defy you. 

You walk to the window and watch the nebula wink by, imagining yourself out there again. At least you’re off duty in a quarter of an hour. You’ve got a headache. 

You pass the last minutes of your shift compiling your notes from tonight’s sessions, doing your best not to internalize any of the information as you transcribe them. It’s depressing. How many sweeps until retirement? Too many. Unless you die, of course, which considering your cushy post on a recon ship, doesn’t seem likely. Pretty unheard of for anyone under teal to grab up; you should be grateful that blood as muddy green as your was even allowed to step foot in this office. You remember how proud your lusus had been when the assignment came down. How your friends had congratulated you while barely concealing their outraged jealousy. You didn’t let it bother you. It wasn’t as if you were ever going to see them again. 

When you are two minutes from quitting time, your communicator chimes. Annoyance crashes over you, and you don’t bother to check who the call is coming from before you jam the button.

ELLIAN: what? 

A burst of interference is followed by a tired, oddly flat voice that you nonetheless recognize.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: i hope im not bothering you doctor  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: but i’d appreciate your presence on the bridge 

Fuck.

ELLIAN: captaIn, I dIdn’t mean tO be rUde, I dIdn’t-- 

CAPTAIN FERRIA: i dont care  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: i need you on the bridge allora right the fuck now 

\--

Layala Ferria is waiting for you on the bridge, stood beside a table that you know is supposed to be for hosting visiting officers from other ships, but has only ever been covered in paperwork during your time under Captain Ferria’s command. She has an office--she has to, even _you_ have an office--but you’ve never seen it and she doesn’t seem to spend any time there. If you were given to thera-analyzing your senior officers, you might suggest she doesn’t seem particularly stoked about her command. Or maybe she just gets lonely. 

Typically whenever you enter the bridge you’ll find Ferria signing something, fins flared with annoyance, little black pearl earrings catching the light. They are the only ornamentation she wears besides the pin designating her rank, which for a violetblood is incredibly restrained. You’ve known better highbloods than Captain Ferria, but you’ve also definitely known worse ones. 

Today there is no paperwork. She is waiting for you at parade rest in front of the helm, all of the screens asleep as _The Freshwater_ plows on through space on its pre-assigned autopilot. This ship hasn’t had a Helmsman since the last one had been retired, and the rig stands empty. There is something almost obscene about the scattered mess of loose biowires and plugs.

ELLIAN: I was jUst abOUt tO sIgn Off fOr the nIght, yOU cOUldn’t have waIted fIve mOre mInUtes  
ELLIAN: ...captaIn?

You add the last part because you never know what sort of mood you’ll find her in. On most days she seems to tolerate, and even enjoy, being talked to like she’s just another member of the crew. Especially from someone like you, who has been doing your job for longer than she has been alive. But other days she has absolutely no patience for it, when her authority feels tenuous and watery. This is her first command, and you know sometimes she is acutely aware of it.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: i need you to interrogate an asset 

Her eyes are narrowed and her hands are behind her back. She has a habit of picking at her clawgunk when she’s nervous, and she most likely doesn’t want you to see the wreckage she has wrought.

ELLIAN: an  
ELLIAN: asset? 

She looks like she wants to roll her eyes.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: a prisoner doctor i need you to interrogate a prisoner 

ELLIAN: althOUgh Of cOUrse I wIsh tO serve the empIre In any way that I am able...  
ELLIAN: that Isn’t exactly part of my dUtIes, captaIn 

Where had _The Freshwater_ even gotten a prisoner from? You haven’t touched down on a planet for months, and you’ve been in deep space for at least a week. This is just a recon ship. You don’t actually ever find anything.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: im aware of your duties doctor  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: but i still need you to do it 

Layala straightens the line of her jacket. She looks like she needs rest, and like whatever sleeping she has done over the last few days has been in her clothes. You’re beginning to get a bit uneasy. At first you figured she was just fucking you around, but she looks deadly serious. You don’t like this.

ELLIAN: captaIn, wOUldn’t that job be better sUIted tO a sUbjUggUlatOr?  
ELLIAN: nOt that I’m nOt eager tO help--

CAPTAIN FERRIA: cut the crap allora i dont have time for it  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: i dont need... 

She breaks off as a rustblood grunt runs up to whisper something in her ear, standing up on his tiptoes so she doesn’t have to bend down. Her expression cycles through a complicated array of different frustrations.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: for the love of fuck  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: okay tell them ill be with them momentarily  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: i dont need a tortuer allora i need a bullshitter 

She turns back to you.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: i need someone who can convince our prisoner to betray everyone they care about  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: isnt that what you do all day?  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: convince kids theyre better off staying in their crappy quadrants because no one else could ever love them?  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: just do that but in reverse 

That stings. It shouldn’t, but it does. Your jaw goes very tense.

ELLIAN: I’m jUst dOIng my jOb  
ELLIAN: It’s nOt cOndUcIve tO grOUp UnIty and cOhesIOn tO have qUadrants splIttIng Up dUrIng wartIme--

Layala laughs at you, her earrings glimmering like points of fire on her fins.

CAPTAIN FERRIA: this is the alternian empire doctor there is no time but wartime  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: and there never will be until we get the traitor back under imperial control 

ELLIAN: the traItOr

Your pusher bangs against your thoratic struts. The tips of your fronds tingle.

ELLIAN: It Isn’t--  
ELLIAN: yOU dOn’t have her, dO yOU

CAPTAIN FERRIA: no ellian i dont want you to theranalyze the traitor heiress  
CAPTAIN FERRIA: i want you to theralize her matesprit’s kismesis 

\-- 

The Prophet is smaller than you are expecting. 

On all of the imperial propaganda feeds he’s always portrayed as a hulking, shadowed monster, rancid blood leaving his form twisted and grotesque. The kid chained to the interrogation table is barely a sweep past his ordeals, raw-boned and underfed, his horns so small they barely peak out of his snarled mess of curls. His eyes are a furious, blazing crimson. Apparently when he’d been caught he’d had on contacts to darken the hue to burgundy. 

Karkat Vantas is a mutant and a dissident, and he sits there in his chains like he is on a throne.

VANTAS: LET’S GET THIS OUT OF THE WAY BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE, AND POSSIBLY SAVE EVERYBODY SOME TIME?  
VANTAS: DON’T BOTHER TO WHIP OUT THE NERVE PINCHERS OR WHATEVER THE FUCK. YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT TO ME.  
VANTAS: WHATEVER NASTY SCIENCE FICTION ASS BULLSHIT YOU CAN COME UP WITH. TEAR OFF MY CLAWS AND PULL OUT MY OCULARS.  
VANTAS: I AM NOT GIVING YOU SHIT.  
VANTAS: SO YOUR FUCKING BIG FISH CAPTAIN CAN GARGLE MY BULGE.  
VANTAS: I’M NOT TALKING. 

Layala had warned you about this just outside. <>There’s no way he isn’t rigged, Ellian. There will be a trigger word or gesture, or some combination of eye movements. If we try to cut the info out of him, he’ll just kill himself. This requires a lighter touch. 

As you take a seat across from him you almost wish you’d had him brought to your office instead. That would have felt a little more normal. The vibe here is all wrong. Prison chic doesn’t really get you in the mood to analyze anyone’s internal issues, even rebel leaders’.

ELLIAN: yOU were fOUnd In One Of the aIrlOcks  
ELLIAN: hOw dId yOU get OnbOard? yOU mUst have an ally On the shIp 

Vantas yanks at his manacles.

VANTAS: OH WOW, YOU GOT ME! I’LL ANSWER ALL OF YOUR QUESTIONS EARNESTLY AND HONESTLY!  
VANTAS: EXCEPT, WAIT, NO I WON’T. FUCK YOU. 

You do your very best not to make an expression You aren’t used to be shouted at like this. Even your most lively patients are typically appropriately deferential to your rank. But of course someone like this mutant child doesn’t even respect Her Imperious Condescension. He certainly won’t respect you.

ELLIAN: It almOst makes me wOnder what the traItOr heIress-- 

VANTAS: SHE HAS A FUCKING NAME  
VANTAS: AND SHE ISN’T A TRAITOR. 

Of course he has to repeat that to himself as often as possible to make sure he continues to believe it. You humor him.

ELLIAN: --what feferI pIexes was thInkIng, sendIng sOmeOne frOm her Inner cIrcle tO take On sUch a dangerOUs missiOn  
ELLIAN: wOUldn’t it be better sUited to an Underling? sOmeOne of nO statUs? 

Vantas opens his mouth--most likely to tell you to fuck yourself once again--before his eyes narrow. He starts to laugh, and it sounds like rusty machinery. Like he hasn’t used his vocal chords for this in a long time. His eyes glow dully in the interrogation room’s thrumming lights.

VANTAS: YOU AREN’T AN ENFORCER. YOU’RE A FUCKING SHRINK. 

His eyes dart to your lapel. You knew you should have removed your olive insignia before coming in here.

ELLIAN: my tItle Is theraterror. I hOld the eqUIvalent rank of lIeUtenant 

VANTAS: FABULOUS. CONGRATULATIONS. I BET YOU JUST LOVE YOUR JOB 

You wish you’d brought in your tablet, your notes, anything to give yourself something to do with your hands.

VANTAS: I BET YOU USED TO GIVE ALL YOUR FRIENDS QUADRANT ADVICE BACK ON THE SURFACE, DIDN’T YOU?  
VNATAS: YOU WERE THE BEST AT IT.  
VANTAS: YOU PROBABLY HAD A BLOG. YOU PROBABLY USED TO READ A WHOLE BUNCH OF GARBAGE ABOUT THE MATCHMAKERS OF THE OLD EMPIRE.  
VANTAS: THE “PRE WAR ERA”. 

His voice drips with disdain. Your face heats.

ELLIAN: nO

You’re lying. Of course you’re lying. Why else would you have studied theratery in the Academy? For this fucking job? Back then you thought you could actually make someone else’s life a little better. That you could help people. You were such an asshole back then. 

But you’re not telling a mutant all of that. This unholy child with a vicious mouth and suicide in his eyes. It doesn’t matter. Karkat Vantas is looking at you like he read it all on the walls of your pan. Does he have psychic abilities? You should have asked about that.

VANTAS: I BET YOU HATE IT HERE. I BET YOU HATE YOUR LIFE. 

ELLIAN: shUt Up. we’re nOt here tO talk abOUt me 

Vantas laughs again.

VANTAS: WELL, I GUESS WE’LL JUST SIT HERE IN SILENCE THEN, BECAUSE WE DEFINITELY AREN’T TALKING ABOUT ME.  
VANTAS: I TOLD YOU, I’M NOT GIVING YOU ANIMALS SHIT.  
VANTAS: YOU’RE PATHETIC. ALL OF YOU. FIGHTING HER WAR, FOR WHAT?  
VANTAS: NOTHING. FOR SCRAPS. 

You lean forward across the table so quickly that Vantas jerks back in his seat, eyes wide. Your claws clack against the metal as you grip the edge.

ELLIAN: and what abOUt yOU?  
ELLIAN: why are yOU fOllOwIng yOUr traItOr heIress? dO yOU really thInk yOU can wIn?  
ELLIAN: dO yOU thInk there’s any chance thIs Isn’t gOing tO end with all Of yOU slImy wOrms splattered acrOss the dIrt Of the dark carnIval when they march yOU OUt fOr execUtIOn? 

Vantas takes a few trembling breaths.

VANTAS: NO. BUT IT’LL BE BETTER THAN DYING OUT HERE. 

ELLIAN: wIll It really? 

Vantas fixes you with the eye that isn’t covered in a tuft of tangled curls.

VANTAS: I DON’T KNOW. BUT AT LEAST I WON’T END UP LIKE YOU. 

ELLIAN: lIke me? 

VANTAS: A MID LEVEL BUREAUCRAT RUINING KIDS RELATIONSHIPS SO THEY DON’T ROCK THE FUCKING BOAT. 

You feel something flare up in you, hot and mean.

ELLIAN: yOUr kIsmesIs. the EngIneer.  
ELLIAN: what dO yOU thInk he’ll dO when he fInds OUt we have yOU 

VANTAS: SOLLUX? 

A hint of twisted fondness creeps into his voice.

VANTAS: HE’S NOT AN IDIOT.  
VANTAS: HE WOULDN’T RISK FEF’S REVOLUTION FOR ME. 

You hear a distant boom. For a moment you convince yourself you imagined it, but then the room begins to shake. Just small tremors at first. But they get stronger, and you realize that Karkat Vantas is smiling at you.

VANTAS: AT LEAST, HE WOULDN’T COME ON HIS OWN.  
VANTAS: DID YOU ALL EVEN BOTHER TO SWEEP FOR BUGS AFTER YOU CAUGHT ME?  
VANTAS: YOU REALLY DO THINK WE’RE JUST COMPLETE AMATEURS, DON’T YOU? 

Another hard shudder goes through the ship, like a woofbeast shaking water off its coat. This can’t be happening, this absolutely isn’t possible. There’s no way this tiny mutant, this nobody--

VANTAS: I KNOW YOU AREN’T HAPPY HERE. 

He’s looking at you with such understanding in his poisonous eyes. It makes you sick. It makes you ashamed.

VANTAS: I CAN TELL THEM YOU’RE WITH ME. YOU CAN JOIN US. BUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUT OF THESE CHAINS FIRST. 

You hesitate. What’s the right thing? You don’t know. You aren’t trained for this.

VANTAS: WHATEVER YOU’RE GOING TO DO  
VANTAS: DO IT SOON. 

You have spent the last few decades of your life considering yourself. A slow, plodding progression through disappointment, to anger, to grudging acceptance. It stands to reason that when you finally have the chance for change, you have to make the choice in a split second. 

Vantas is waiting. You take a deep breath and you choose.


End file.
